The Thirteen Little Black Pigs, and Other Stories

"A bit too clever," replied the farmer. "He's rather too fond of meddling. Yesterday afternoon he got into the big field where we'd just turned out all the little black pigs, and he was chasing and hunting them all the time."

"They'll not get fat at that rate," said the children's mother, smiling. "What a lot of them there are – twelve, didn't you say, yesterday?"

"Yes – a dozen – nice pigs they are too," said the farmer, "perhaps it would amuse the children to see them – black pigs are rare in these parts."

He turned towards the field, Max, Dolly and their mother following.

"Mamma," said Max, eagerly, "did you hear? There's only twelve."

"But I saw thirteen," said Dolly.

"Yes," said mamma. "You were right as to the number of pigs, Max, but Dolly was right as to the number of black creatures she counted, for Nigger was there. So you were wrong in your counting, Max, and Dolly was wrong in the number of pigs, and so – "